The Birds Chronicles
by victoriayukimura
Summary: Three stories, three birds, three parings, three would-be happy endings. The nightingales had flown, the bells had rung. Will the crane ever takes to the sky?
1. Nightingales and Bells

**Nightingales and Bells**

Tezuka holds no memory before his 12th birthday, and now, the only one who can restore it, is the world's best assassin.

* * *

_Two boys were walking down a busy street. Tent like stalls filled with various goods lined by the side. The smaller one of the boys is talking a one-sided conversation, the taller boy is giving a grunt and a nod now and then. The first boy doesn't seem to mind or was just used to it._

_The smaller boy paused by a particular stall. Dozens of bells chimed in the wind; they are small, with different colors and patterns with odd symbols embedded on them. The taller boy stopped and turned around too, also watching the bells sway in the wind._

_Some moments later, the petite boy stepped away from the stall. Hands cupped around something before revealing to the slightly older boy two bells strapped to a sliver chain. Two bells, one cerulean with some dark violet swirls and a grey sliver nightingale hidden in between the patterns. The other is simple hazel, with a sort of black crane like shape embedded in the precise middle._

_The boy then explained: "The blue one is me, the brown one is you. If they never lost their voice, then we will always be there for each other. If they never lost their ring, they will be a symbol for us. We'll always be there for each other, no matter what happens, Promise Tezuka?"_

_Those two bells were then softly clicked and linked on the chain. Tezuka let the other boy keep them, he bought them after all. They continued walking from that point._

_"Forever and ever, Fuji."_

* * *

The Taizuoka Empire is one of the most powerful kingdoms in the land. It has good people, wonderful buildings and traditions, fabulous economics, strict military and a very good royal family.

Its direct heir, Tezuka Kunimitsu, is a capable prince; handsome, intelligent, a master swordsman. Of course, everyone has flaws and you can pin point it onto his gaping childhood memories.

Tezuka can never remember them clearly and all at once. There is a glimpse here at night in bed, a preview there when he is taking bath, absolutely nothing before his twelfths birthday. His father watched in the shadows, grateful and relieved that his power did not wane. Tezuka himself doesn't really care about memories, there is always something better to do. But whenever he had the guts and the time to ask his father, the king would always shoo him away with an exasperated sigh and a soft glare.

On Tezuka's fifteenth birthday, the palace has an intruder.

Metal meets metal countless time; sidestep there, a turn of sword here. _The famous Assassin does live up to his reputations. _Tezuka thought as he use his whole front body to push the Assassin outwards. But he just he merely did a back flip and landed on a low bamboo table. The large cloak swished upon landing. A leather hood covered the Assassin's face, his katana poised loosely at his side. He tilted his head and vaulted off the table.

Tezuka parried blow after blow, every time his sword would just brush past his opponent, making him more irritated by the second. A soft tinkering sound made Tezuka snap out of his concentration, seizing his chance (not) the Assassin pushed Tezuka back.

The door was suddenly burst open, worried and concerned relatives and guards came flooding in. Tezuka half listened to Inui rambling on how the palace need more defenses after this incident, to reassuring Oishi and his mother that he is indeed alright; The other half busy staring at the open night where the Assassin disappeared to. After finally shoving the noise out of his room and getting some rest did he manage to slow down his head and think everything through.

He swears he saw bells hanging on the Assassin's belt, one cerulean and one hazel.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, he got another frightful visit. In the northern forest, they also had a fight. Tezuka solely enjoyed it this time around; he had finally tasted what adrenaline feels like. Broken leaves and cracked branches littered on the moss covered forest walls. The Assassin is jumping and weaving in the trees, his soft tinkering laugh filled the forest glans.

This fight is also interrupted. His four holy swords are the worried friends they've always been. His mother keep on pestering about what happened, his state of clothes, his injuries and generally being a typical worried mother. His father, however, doesn't keep eye contacts with him and bent on muttering about memories, powers and insolent child.

Tezuka isn't interested at his father's self-talk. He is more concerned on what he had seen. The prince had caught a ghostly smile and a pair of bright cerulean eyes under that large hood.

The very exact eyes he had seen before. Once.

* * *

_A clear afternoon unfolds over the big city. Only a few clouds were lingering in the blue sky, bright sunlight was reflecting off the bright grass and strong trees. Two boys were sitting in a large meadow under a large sakura tree. One has a medium sized sketch book open on his lap, a box of tinted charcoal lay beside him._

_The other boy was lying beside the first boy's back, making a crown of clover and singing to the nightingales in the sakura tree. The first boy turned over a page and started to draw something new._

_"Ne Tezuka, what will you do if someone made you forget everything and that someone makes new memories for you?" the boy lying down asked before gently smashing the flora crown on Tezuka's hazel's curls._

_Tezuka just shrugged and answered: "I would try to remember I guess; but even though I would like someone to help me along." It is just a regular occurrence of those weird questions Fuji always asks._

_"Well then, I'll help you remember if you do forget one day, deal?" Fuji said, suddenly up close and personal._

_"It's a deal, Fuji."_

* * *

The third fight happened when the royal family is having its monthly picnic. Tezuka wondered into the thin woods flanking the picnic area despite his father's protests. He came across a meadow. Dandelions, clovers and soft grass carpeted the field. At the far end, there is a tall sakura tree. Two small bells hung on one of its low branches.

A nightingale flown by stood on the same branch and sang a few notes. A soft chuckle sounded behind the prince. The Assassin bowed lightly and charged with a sword raised.

This time, the prince got a clear view on what the famous Assassin looks like. His dutiful sword hacked away the long black cloak. His opponent side stepped, letting the cloak fall where they may and jumped back.

The smile is still there, his face framed by shoulder length brown hair. The leftover cloak hangs a shroud like state on his shoulders. The closed eye lids opened, the smile turned into something else. A huge gust of wind nearly knocked Tezuka over, when he blinked; there is only the soft rustle of branches at the other side of the meadow to even suggest the Assassin had been here.

The bells tinkered in the wind.

Then the shock waves hit him. Rolling over his head like a tsunami. Tumbling over his memories and making Tezuka collapse in a heap on the ground. Then the missing memories began to flow back. There is one of him teaching an older girl on how to fold paper cranes, another one of him climbing trees and picking flowers.

Then, loads of memories of Tezuka spending times with the young Assassin began to enter. Of him teasing Tezuka on his seriousness, f him adding wasabi in Tezuka's morning tea, of him teaching Tezuka on how to sing to the nightingales and the mockingbirds. Finally the last one entered his mind; of his father forcefully manipulate half of his memories.

When the king finally found the meadow, he only found pieces of tattered leather and an unconscious horse. He searched his son until nightfall, getting three quarters of the castle worked up, never once thought of why Tezuka did what he did.

That night, nightingales and bells sung together.

* * *

**A/N: basically Tezuka's father saw young Tezuka with Fuji and got angry because future heir and all that. So he erased Tezuka's memories and Fuji became an assassin to bring those memories back. **

**Characters are not mine, confusing plot.**

**Next up: Alpha pair, Birdcage and Cranes**


	2. EP: Where and Voice

**A/N,** _or__ AUTHOR RAMBLING: _I am so sorry about the delaying updates. The first part of the new chapter is going along smoothly, but it is just so hard to write about Sanada and Yukimura's school life. And since my I want to keep The Birds Chronicles different and new each chapter so I'm stuck. I am OK at writing broken fairy tales, I absolutely suck at the basic fantasy genre world. Cruel, cruel irony.

This is two extract/preview of the new chapter: _Birdcage and Cranes. _I hope every one likes it and since it is about two boys, it can/will get messy.

_**The Prince of Tennis **is not mine. Because if it is, Ryoma would have never have won against Rikkaidai and Yukimura would still be the Child of God and Seigaku would still be number 2._

* * *

A large black bird, red markings below its wings and throat, flitted high above the compound. He followed its progress over the huts and into the forest on the other side.

"Do you ever wish you would be like that bird?"

"In what way?"

"You know, just take to the sky and fly out of here, never looking back."

"Go where?"

From the treetop the bird called to its mate, a soft screech that seems to pierce right into the core of his body, calling him back from home.

He studied the broody wall of timber beyond but found himself unable to see it as anything but alien, there was no beauty in those dark green hollows and tangles, only danger and fear.

The other boy was also studying the trees, though with a far gentler, reflective expression.

He threw the trees one last glance and walked back to his building. A strange bird like that wouldn't live long, the boy thought.

In the morning the bird was dead. Sometimes during the night the tiny heart stopped beating and they found it cold, a black shadow of life bundled in soft white gauze.

* * *

Another voice, this time floating, disembodies, and yet in an off way more tangible than the boy's memory. More solid, more familiar.

It seemed to echo around the ragged group, but no one else appeared to notice it.

It came from the air, from above, and he let himself be drawn up towards it, and the brightness of the desert faded into nothing.

Darkness, coolness, nothingness. Drifting up towards the voice, he felt peaceful, as he hadn't been for months and months and months. It came from inside him, through him, drawing him to itself with gentle insistence.

Light gleamed in the shadowy air and, like a moth carried by instinct; he let himself waft towards it.

"Wake up!"

Cold cut like an icy blade across his skin and rolled down his face, and he shuddered at the exquisite coolness.

"It's me."

He knew the voice. He knew the voice. Somewhere in the empty darkness of his mind memories started to shiver and wake, drawn back into his consciousness by the chill press of toweling against his forehead. He felt himself floating from the heat and sand of the desert, and somehow knew that he'd never be returning there again.

He opened his eyes.

Just as the first time he'd seen him, the boy was startled by the blueness- the burning, intense blueness. They bore into him with strength and energy that can almost make the boy gasp. He was dimly aware that his heart was beating faster than normal.

And he smiled. For the first time that the boy could remember, his face creased into a proper, full smile, a care free expression that seemed to lift him from the white pillow.

"You're crying."

Crying? The boy's hand lifted to his own eyes and came away moist.

He didn't even realize.

"No, I'm okay." The boy looked away in embarrassment.

"I'm fine, really." He tried to sit up but fell back.

He lifted his hand and touched the boy's cheek lightly, his fingertips wrinkled with scars. "It is all right. It's very fine."

His fingers were brushing only lightly against the boy's skin, but heat radiated from them and into him. The boy knew that his cheeks were starting to flush, was aware of the blaze of warmth rising into them, but it is nothing compared to the fire in that gentle touch from his slightly Calloused fingers.

The boy chuckled at his accented expression and he pulled his hands away, suddenly uncertain, puzzled by the boy's laugh. The boy caught his hands and held it, lifting it up to the bright hospital light.

"You're right. It is very fine indeed."


End file.
